March 26, 2013


Well, kids, now you done gone done it!

Hollywood is fed up with you. And says that it will no longer give you sex. You know, just like your girlfriend. No, wait. In theaters, that is. Well, on the big screen in theaters that is, so as with most things in life today, you have to bring your own. Sex, that is.

Which is kinda sorta rather traditional, really, considering that in those Wonder Years that Hollywood wants to return to there was no sex on the big screen, but a big fucking lot of sex in the theaters. And if you don't know what I'm talking about, ask your grandparents and watch them fucking get red faster than a cock in the middle of dawn.

See, the thing is, we don't like sex. Not really. Because sex doesn't sell any longer. Because sex is now a free commodity, and we all know, hell, free commodities can be found on the web.

And in your pants.

But the wholesome thing? The Disney bullshit they blow up in your ass to the tune of 400 million dollar budgets, which is incidentally worth more than 400,000 awesome Thai transsexual girlfriend experiences?

That sells units. That sells like hot cakes in hot pants.

And them in Hollywood are all about panting, not touching.

Oddly enough, like any fuck that's now called a "girlfriend experience".

It's explosive ejaculation into thin air.

And you're still trying to swallow it anyway.

August 19, 2012


There are 61 years between those two photos below, both belong to Conde Naste, maybe the biggest fashion magazine publisher in the world (it's too late for me to check the actual numbers, but I am fairly certain it still is, despite the loss of circulation everywhere) -

This one is from 1949

This one is from 2011

Now, I am not going to talk about my personal preference in dress style, anybody who's known me for longer than ten minutes will know that I prefer the glamor shots and the fashion of the 1940s, want I want you to do is to look at those two images for more than a minute.

The first one shows, whether you like it or not, a woman, she's dressed up, yes, but there is something about the way that she's photographed that tells you she's her own woman, regardless of the realities of the 1940s and 1950s America, where this wasn't the case at all, where women were only their own for as long as men would allow them to.

But again, not the point here. There's sexy in that image, but there's also a certain distance, she's the kind of woman who you'd like to pass on the street and maybe give her a glance, you wouldn't whistle, of course, she's too classy to give her a whistle, but you would look.

The second image from last year, what does that show you?

I don't know about you, kids, but what I see is something straight out of what's called the Uncanny Valley in CGI animation, airbrushed and photoshopped to the max, but also composed in such a way that it sexualizes and makes these two girls (I'm sorry, but I will not call them women), both with strange, elongated necklines not only Barbie dolls, both objects and sex objects, dressed in creepy layers of something that's somewhere between innocence, both of them sucking on those whistles, both of them look at each other as if they're about to get into some kind of lesbain love feast that only waits for you, the guy, to join in.

These two photos are not the only things, of course. We dress our little girls like 20-year-olds and our 20-year-olds or even 30-year-olds dress like teenage girls, blurring the line not only in fashion but also in our sexuality as to what a woman is and what she shouldn't be.

No, I am not saying that the way girls and women dress today is an open invitations to do whatever the hell you are thinking right now, looking at the second image. What I am saying, though, is that it gets increasingly more difficult to know who's what.

Think about it. The next time you see someone walking down the streets.

If it's a woman dressed as a teenage girl.

Or a teenage girl dressing as if she was a woman.

August 18, 2012


The Doctor
No. Colonel Manton, I want you to tell your men "run away." 

Colonel Manton

The Doctor 
Those words. "Run away." I want you to be famous for those exact words. I want people to call you Colonel Runaway. I want children laughing outside your door, 'cause they've found the house of Colonel Runaway. And when people come to you and ask if trying to get to me through the people I love! in any way a good idea, I want you to tell them your name. Look, I'm angry, that's new. I'm not really sure what's going to happen now. 

Madame Kovarian
The anger of a good man is not a problem. Good men have too many rules. 

The Doctor
Good men don't need rules. Today is not the day to find out why I have so many. 

August 17, 2012


About a month ago, I asked here in my last post here "why we should fight for you?"

I'm not asking anymore. I have found my answer. I won't fight.

Not for you. Not anymore.

Maybe, no, strike that, most likely never again.

I'm retiring from this fight. I'm hanging up my journalistic, my news commentator's guns. It wasn't an easy decision to make, because over the past months, I have increasingly seen my work on Twitter as my duty and my obligation, but not as anything that I liked to do. But I was brought up by my parents with that sense of duty, or as I once wrote "Somebody has to do something, but what the grownups never tell you is that it means, something had to be done, and they sure as hell better not be the one doing it".

In my personal and my professional life I have always been that somebody.

I never stood up for myself and always tried to stand up for others, because that's "what you do".

I took the hits and I took the feeling of emptiness and worked myself way past the point of pain, because that's "what you do".

I watched and shouted and pointed out the truth, because "that's what you do".

I did this as a conscious choice

I did it, because I grew up, always thinking, always being reminded of the fact that in the worst of times, in the chaos, in those days leading up to the chaos, somebody had to say something. I deluded myself, and yes, it was a delusion, that if only more people would have had the courage to speak up, to stand up, to shout out, Hitler wouldn't have happened.

I was wrong.

I see the future of this world, and it's its past.

When I began to no longer delude myself that standing up and speaking out would have a damn impact on whatever will happen to this world, I still did it, telling myself that at least someone had to do it, that somebody had to be recording the descent, so that nobody later could say "But we didn't know! Nobody ever said anything! How were we supposed to know?"

I used to have so much mercy.

It's a quote, and it's not the full quote, maybe one of the best quotes from Dr. Who.

The full one is "I am so old now. I used to have so much mercy. You get one warning. That was it."

I'm so old now. I used to have this mercy.

You get one warning. This is it.

I used to have so much compassion, so much understanding, so much tolerance towards you, the "people". You, the "good people". I used to have so much faith in you. So much hope for you. Thinking that if only you had the chance, if you only had the choice, you would rise above the hatred, the selfishness, the thinking of entitlement, that you would rise above complacency, above the limitations of your cultures, your religions, your upbringing, your class.

That you would become better than what you are.

Not to please a god. Not to please yourself.

But because being better, being compassionate, being merciful... is a conscious choice.

It has always been for me. For all of my life, despite the shit I went through, despite the hits I took, despite the fights I lost, I always made this conscious choice. To show mercy. To give a helping hand. To not care about what happens to me, as long as it would be helpful.

I used to have so much mercy.

Because it is all about that choice.

Now all I have is contempt. Because you are not better. You do not wish to be better. You dress up arrogance as advice, you dress up selfishness as kindness. When given the choice, you went willingly, are walking in lock step with those who promise you that you'll be better, and not in the right way, but in the way of being better off yourself.

You whine and moan about your rights, and your rights alone. You dress up in your faiths and your religion, your genders and your races, and you whine that you as a group should have it better, that others should look at you while you look down on others.

You are Muslims who whine that nobody respects you, that you deserve tolerance, that you deserve respect, that nobody better criticize you while you abuse and oppress women who are trying to stand up and have those same rights within your culture, within your faith, while you hunt down gay men and women and lock them up, if they are lucky, while you spit on them, hurt them, kill them, while you hate Jews and cheer every time one of them dies.

You are not worthy of mercy.

You are Christians who look away when your own church rapes children, who want to take away a woman's right to choose, who think that your faith and religion gives you the right to rape the planet, that you are the crown of creation, who are screaming for the blood of Muslims, who are shouting for war as long as you don't have to go, who support leaders that kill hundreds and thousands of innocents through drone strikes, who scream for the death penalty, who only ever do care about the rituals of your faith, who think that these rituals are reason enough to go to that magical place, where everything is fluffy, niggers won't bother you and it looks like a 1950s sitcom.

You are not worthy of mercy.

You are Jews who still delude yourself that you are the chosen ones, who rob land, who shoot children and women, who threaten with war, with nuclear force, even, as if these are the actions of a sane man, you are selfish, hurtful and arrogant when given the choice, who have forgotten what the real lesson of the past should have been, just as everyone else has forgotten, who walk in lockstep with your own racism, your own delusions of grandeur, dressed up as victimhood.

You are not worthy of mercy.

You are men who laugh about women behind their backs and in their faces, who think that they are weaker, that they deserve a place in the kitchen, who think that there is no equality of rights, who would never say it out loud, but who show it every day by not allowing women to work, not allowing them to rise in the workplace, who don't give them the same money as you give yourself, who shut them out, who willingly confuse equal rights and equal opportunities with being equal physically.

You are not worthy of mercy.

You are women who deny other women the right to choose what path they wish to take, who think your path is the only one, who dress up your selfishness and your loathing of men as feminism, who whine and moan only when it concerns yourself and who would never stand up for a man's rights, because you think they don't deserve any of these rights, delude yourself that men already have everything, now it's your time, now now and me me me, you show no compassion to a man in need of your help, you manipulate behind their backs and tell yourself that's all right, because "they have done this to my gender for centuries, it's payback time".

You are not worthy of mercy.

You are races who look down on each other, who only whine if it's you who is oppressed, who only care if it's your skin color, your culture that is looked down upon while doing the same elsewhere, where you are in control, who show me that the color of skin is worthless, that blacks can oppress whites with the same ease as it was the other way around, who show this to me in places like Uganda, Kenia, South Africa, who prove to me every day that you are not better, you are the same, and hey, equality, right? Who now do the same as it was done to them.

You are not worthy of mercy.

You are nations who still think you are better because of your history, because of great deeds, inventions and thoughts, none of which were your own, that were the thoughts, deeds and inventions of a few who had to fight you all the way before you saw their value... to only yourself, who have no compassion, only loathing to weaker nations, who have only loathing for the people in stronger nations, all of you deluding yourself you are the victims, who want it all for yourself, for whatever reason you come up with today.

You are not worthy of mercy.

You are the rich who are greedy, who think that it matters which cunt you crawled out of, who believe you are entitled to a better education, to a better life, to more and more and more, who delude yourself you are worth more, more worthy despite the fact that you are only there due to the luck of the genetic lottery, who treat others like furniture, like a tool, who see people who work hard as a commodity, who are already one more logical step away from putting up labor camps, oh, wait... in places like China you already have, who exploit people to the point of illness and death, who spritz yourself with champagne during an evening that costs so much that hundreds of families could live, could not starve, could have a little something...

You are not worthy of mercy.

You are the poor who are complacent, who don't care, who loathe those who dissent, who speak up on your behalf, who sit in front of the television and watch reality television, who masturbate to the thought, the lie, the delusion that you could be one of the pretty people, who worship celebrities instead of ideas, who take pride in stupidity and more pride in your hatred of anybody who tries to think, to educate himself, who vote on race and who you would like to have a beer with, who don't know and don't care about how much power you have as long as you can see those who rule you, rape and fuck you tell you they share of morals of bigotry, your faith of hatred.

You are not worthy of mercy.

I used to have so much of it. Hope. Faith. Mercy.

But not anymore. Thank you for educating me.

There's a storm coming, kids.

This will be my one, my only, my final warning.

When that storm comes, don't count on me.

I have retired from this fight.

Because you have never even started to fight.

July 15, 2012


I'm seriously asking myself that.

Every day I'm asking myself that question a little bit more often. Why should we fight for you? The few who stood up, especially over the past 15 months, the few who had the courage, the naivety, the insanity to stand up and ask, in that classic Charles Dickens' Oliver Twist fashion... for a little bit more.

Not for ourselves, but for everybody.

Can we have a little more?

Some didn't have to do much. I certainly didn't. All I did, all I could do, all I have maybe done is to try to formulate for those who have no voice, to build messages from facts and dressing them in a funny way so that you may laugh about them before realizing that the truth is bitter and hangs in the back of your throat.

But this isn't about me.

I have hung to an ever-thinning thread of an increasingly more abstract hope that somehow, somewhere we can and should be better, despite all evidence to the contrary. And you may point to the thousands on Twitter, may point to the tens of thousands demonstrating all over the world and tell me not to worry, that people are waking up, that people care, that this will get better somehow.

You are wrong.

For the thousands on Twitter, the tens of thousands demonstrating are a statistical glitch in the greater picture that shows gluttony, complacency and what I can only call the worst humanity has to offer, has always offered and will always do so, the tribal mentality.

I'm not even talking about religion, race or gender, all of which are equally offenders against what the spirit of humanity should be (and I am talking about every religion, every race and every gender), no, I am talking about something much more vicious and something that has created a bigger but more subtle divide that most cling to, especially in those "civilized Western countries".

It's the illusion of status.

It's the delusion of status.

It's the idea that those who ask, those who shout, those who uncover and discover, who expose and fight, even if it is merely with words... are worth less. Are to be ridiculed, are to be spat upon, are to be put down.

It is the idea that you are... better.

This isn't about me.

This is about someone else. This is why I am thinking today. And yesterday. And why I am breaking my internet vow to not look, to not care, if only for a few days. This is why I am asking myself that question I put in the title.

This is about a young woman who calls herself Korgasm on Twitter.

She is a brave young woman. She is an intelligent young woman.

And what is worth more, she just may have done some of the most outstanding journalistic work that nobody cared about since Spider Jerusalem exposed shit on Transmetropolitan, and that was in fiction, you know, not reality.

She was there when Occupy Wall Street started and well-paid twats like Laurie Penny hadn't shown up yet, when commentators and pundits still thought OWS was some kind of new product they had to pimp.

She was there when Occupy Wall Street got ugly, and she recorded it, without having been told to do so, without having been paid to do so. She did so because she was a journalist in the best sense of the word.

She did so because that is what a journalist does.

She did so because she saw what happened and couldn't look away.

She did so because she couldn't look away and wanted to show you.

And when OWS spread through the United States, she chose to be on the ground, on those very battlefields in Oakland and New Orleans that nobody gave a fuck about.

She gave you the images of arrests, of police brutality, of a secretive war that is right now being waged in the USA, pushed into the shadows by the billions of campaign advertising and McDonald's commercials that pretend this is all business as usual.

And it is.

A business.

And it's the usual.

She went to the places where it hurts. In more than one way. Selling her own personal belongings one by one to have enough money, to never have enough money, just to give you the chance to see the things that the mainstream media covers up, to give you an unfiltered view from the street. Every street. Everywhere, USA.

She did so, because she believes in the truth.

She did so, because she is more of a reporter than I ever was.

Me, I am no longer a journalist.

I'm an analyst.

I'm a writer.

I'm the guy who tells you stories.

And so I'll tell you this one, about a young woman who cared when 99.9% of you didn't. Who didn't follow a dream, neither American nor otherwise, but who followed the truth when it was not opportune to do so, when in fact the truth was something that you only wanted to see sandwiched between the more important news, you know, like when is that new Apple iShit coming out?

And after all she went through, she found herself stranded in Oakland, with not enough money to make it back home. And since she wasn't paid, since she wasn't hired, there was no phone call to an editor to be made, no corporate credit card that got Anderson Cooper in and out of Egypt first class to then look very concerned about the plight of demonstrators, very concerned about the plight of the poor before returning to his luxury suite at a hotel.

She was stranded, still is stranded as I write this.

And she asked. Which is always a hard thing to do.

She asked for help. Not much. Just enough to get her home.

Weary, bruised and fatigued from seeing things, she asked.

And this is one of the things she got as a reply.

I wish I could say that this doesn't happen.

I wish I could say that the majority of people are better than this.

But they aren't. As I said above, those thousands on Twitter, those tens of thousands demonstrating, they are a small, even shrinking minority. The majority of people is exactly this. Mean. Bitchy. Selfish. And laughing at the plight of others, as long it doesn't hit them.

And I'm asking myself, each day more often.

Why should we fight for you?

Why should we ask for a better future... for you?

Why should we?

I'm running out of lies that I can tell myself.

I'm running out of reasons I can pretend exist.

You should be afraid.

Of the day I have run out of them.

June 6, 2012


See what I did there? With the headline?

I was being oh so very clever, right?

Because that's what this is going to be about, this entry, it's about being oh so very clever, and if there is one thing that describes the movie Prometheus, it's that. People (writers and director) trying to be oh so very clever... and failing miserably.

I admit it, I am a big Alien fan. And a fan of Aliens, not so much of Alien 3, and Alien 4 I consider to be a proto-concept of Serenity (Firefly) and with the exception of Sigourney Weaver's tough assery as a clone, it is mostly uneven and with an ending that is both ridiculous and shameful (and yes, before some idiot comes, I am perfectly aware that Joss Whedon wanted to set the third act on Earth, which would have been better).

Having said all that, I was in anticipation of Ridley Scott's latest (and no, I will not call him Sir Ridley, for I don't give a fuck who the Queen knights, okay?), not because it could have, might have been, will possibly be, oh gosh, the excitement, a prequel to Alien, but because it was Ridley Scott! Doing Science Fiction! The guy who directed Blade Runner and Alien, finally coming back to us...

... as opposed to Jim Cameron, who never really left us, and you can hate him for Avatar and Titanic, if you like, but Cameron also did Terminator and Aliens and, heck, even Abyss, which I loved (in its Director's Cut)...

... and what could possibly go wrong?

Everything. Everything went wrong with this movie.

Especially with Damon Lindelof writing the most expensive, bloated episode of Lost, ever, with this movie. Good one, Lindelof! And Jon Spaiths finally proves he can't write shit, that his Darkest Hour piece of crap released at the end of last year... that's the level he writes on, kids, that's the level that is enough in Hollywood to be told "you're awesome, here's a turd sandwich".

So, by now you'll all know the plot. Big 1 trillion "science expedition" funded by eccentric Howard-Hughes-like Quadrillionaire (Guy Pierce in the most horrific ageing make-up) goes out to find the roots of our existence, which just happens to be in outer space, blah blah, read Von Däniken for a deeper understanding of the semi-science bullshit that Scott and his writers force feed you from the very beginning of the movie.

If you really care, think of the plot as Aliens vs. Predators set in deep space, with the "Engineers" standing in as the Predators, and how pathetic is it that Ridley Scott takes the plot from a Paul Anderson movie? Even down to the "all cultures have the same things in them" speech roughly 20 minutes into this one.

See, the whole thing that they marketed it as was "It's not a prequel to Alien, no, really, it isn't, it just takes place in the same universe", which is like saying that any German movie isn't really about Hitler, when we all know that the ones who make it out of Germany clearly are.

But here, it's "Do you remember that elephant dude in the ship at the beginning of Alien? We gonna tell you who or what he is". Boah! Awesome, I know, right?

Well, now that dude is called an "Engineer", because, get it, they engineered us, life on Earth, or maybe just mankind, the movie never really makes that fully clear, but it is apparent that he's a humanoid dude underneath all that Elephantman gear, just with a bald head and no eyebrows. Boah!

And that one of them killed himself (right at the beginning of the movie, spoiler!) to "seed life on Earth" through his DNA goo. Why?

Uh, wait for the sequel.

Oh, I'm sorry, that was a spoiler.

And then, 2,000 years ago, the same race decided, "you know what, let's kill mankind".


Uh, wait for the sequel.

Oh, I'm sorry. Another spoiler, that.

Anyway, here's the joke. A creationist, a darwinist and a robot walk into a spaceship...

The creationist says "Are you god?"

The darwinist says "You're some ugly motherfucker."

The robot says "Fascinating."

... and they pretty much all die, without rhyme or reason. Yes, that's the movie. A joke without a punchline, a joke without characters that are credible or even memorable.

Much has been made of Fassbender's portrayal of the android David, but to be perfectly honest, it's Data. Yes, a upper English class Data, but Data nonetheless, detached and polite and with some creepy that made me go "the butler did it! Yes, I know it! It's you, David!"

Charlize Theron is a character that is meaningless (except for that obvious Blade Runner reference, you'll know it when you see it... "father"). If you had cut every scene with here from the movie, I shit you not, none of the plot would have been altered. Always a bad thing for a character, especially in a movie, where every minute counts, where everybody and everything must have a reason for being included, you are talking 120 minutes here, kids, don't waste them.

Also, Theron does here the exact same thing that Weaver's Ripley did, only when Ripley did it in the first movie, you find yourself thinking "yeah, she is fucking right, don't you take fucking John Hurt back to the Nostromo, this is a bad fucking idea, this is a really bad fucking idea", while the same moment here is played to only show Theron's cruelty, a complete 180 from what a scene like that should be, and it's because there is nothing to Theron's character other than frozen blood and cruelty, so the scene itself becomes wasted.

Noomi Rapace's Shaw is a scientist only nominally, she's there as a stand in for a point of view, for the bullshit that will most likely please the American Religious Right, she's a creationist looking for god (tough shit, lady), and remember when Sigourney Weaver's Ripley went back for Jones the cat in Alien and we all groaned (and when she went back for Newt in Aliens, and we all went "fuck, hell, yes, don't you fucking fuck with Mum!")

Well, Rapace also retrieves something at the end of this movie, she doesn't have to go all ballistic for it, but while Fassbender's David has lost his head (there seems to be an inherent weakness for androids in the Alienverse, their heads all become quite detachable, see also: Ash, Bishop), Rapace comes back to... wait for it...

... get back her cross! Yes, that's fucking right!

The movie even ends out with Rapace's voice over stating "in the year of our lord", I mean, thanks, I really wanted to get hit over the head with that (of course, since we are being oh so very clever, we can interpret that the reason the "Engineers" want to kill us... hm, 2,000 years ago, oh gosh, is it because Jesus came around?), that bullshit religious moralizing in deep space.

But even that, that religious crap, isn't an answer in the movie.

I'm not going to go too much into the actual "murder monster massacres" that happen here, some of it is grisly, some of it is creepy (much has been made of Rapace's surgery, I actually thought, meh), because they are murders by the numbers, and most of them happen because the characters in this movie behave without any intelligence, so they all deserve to die.

I wanted to like this movie, I really did, and some may say that I'm just bitter, because this isn't really an Alien movie, to which I say, bullshit. It's trying to tell it isn't a movie about the Alien, while everything in the plot is a rehash of Alien and Aliens, just without the actual damn thing showing up until a very silly 30 seconds at the very end...

I'm disappointed, because this movie has no character to root for, no plot to be dazzled or even surprised by, because this movie has no beginning, middle or an end, it just moves along to a sputtering halt that has Rapace and Fassbender be the only survivors, about to set sail on an Engineer ship to the Engineer homeworld, without supplies, without oxygen, without tools, because Rapace wants to...

... wait for it...

... she wants to know who created our creators!

Dun DUN Dun!

And the search for "God" continues... and I want to warn everyone that this is it. That's how far the movie goes. There are no answers here, just goo and glib bullshit, don't want to offend anyone, do we, especially not in America, gosh, no, not when this movie is done by Fox...

A lot of the things could have been fixed, quite easily, even.

For example, they find a living "Engineer", and David can even talk to him, explaining that "hey, it's us, your kids, surprise?" And what does that superior race dude do? He just squeals and starts thrashing shit around. Oh, my.

What if there had been a glimmer of recognition in his eyes?

What if there had been just a word coming from him, with David trying to translate him (since we actually don't get subtitles here), and David goes...

"What do you mean? I'm sorry, I don't quite understand... flawed?"

Just that single moment would have given some meaning to the whole plot underneath the movie, you can say they created us... and we were a mistake!

(That would seriously fuck up some people's heads, right?)

And even when the movie ends, witht he "Engineer" just being another "monster of the week", coming for Rapace as she is in the yacht part of the Prometheus, with the other alien "baby" being still locked in the med bay (having grown to a super squid), there is nothing there's just rage, grrrr grrr grrr... he comes for her in a way that is both ridiculous and cliche...

... and again, that scene could have been saved by what I wrote about here (we are flawed!) and then transport it to that sequence...

... with Rapace releasing that alien squid on him, and a simple line.

"Time to meet your creation, motherfucker."

But none of this happens. It's just sequences that are put on a string, without payoff.

And that is why Prometheus, in the end, is a vanity project for an aging, increasingly delusional director who is interested in visuals but has no longer an idea about telling a story.

If you want to be entertained, put that Alien disc into your Blu Ray or DVD player.

June 5, 2012


Obviously, I am not going to post every chapter of Kylie's Big Book of Monsters: A Most Monstrous Monster's Morning by Mr. Thomas R. Hart & Mr. Edo Fuikschot...

(yes, it has a subtitle, or rather, that is the title of the first book in the series)

...but I wanted to give you out there a little more of a sneak peek of what the book will be like, mainly because I squeak like a little girl whenever Edo comes up with new things (and he does so often), like e.g. the way Googie tells his story, in such beautiful graphic simplicity that I went "aww" and "whee" at the same time.

I also wanted to share this particular chapter, because it introduces Kylie as she is now, properly dressed as the most monstrous little girl.

This book series is going to cuddle you.

Don't be afraid. It's just a cuddle.

May 10, 2012


Here's the thing about "illustrated" novels.

They suck. They have sucked for a long time and will most likely continue to suck in the future. And the reason for this, I shit you not, is that there's no proper collaboration in most of them, especially in the US "publishing industry".

Unless, that is, you are writer and artist in one, but for most writers, well, we suck at drawing or illustrating. And if you have read this blog, you know that I actually believe there should be a union between artist and writer, maybe not quite on the level of gay marriage, but a union nonetheless.

In "professional" surroundings, such unions rarely, if ever happen. The industry is dominated by the most awful of people, the editor, backed by the even more awful of nun humans, the people in the marketing department.

At best, what you get most of the time, it's those "single page" illustrations, usually with a paragraph or two underneath it, taken out of the actual text... looking somewhat isolated and forlorn and without any proper ties to the flow of the story.

I hate that.

In the case of Kylie's Big Book of Monsters, I once had the "shot" at getting it in front of that apparent "publisher's circle" after I had submitted a pitch package to Scholastic USA. I had what I thought was a nice new editor named Adam, he liked it, he had some notes and ideas, which he fedex'ed me back, so I could implement them, if I chose to.

And I did. See, as opposed to the general myth that I'm an asshole, I don't mind working with others. If they have something of value to say. And then I even implement stuff. If they have something of value to say.

So I edited the first chapter of this book.

I did a plot outline to a point where he was happy, even if I wasn't, because it was the mandate to even get published that it should be one book, had to be one book, not a book series of short books, the way I had envisoned it.

But I did it. Because I was told, so many times, that this is what a professional does.

And I sent it off to young Adam at Scholastic.

And said, "listen, I'd like to have to actually the art be married to the text, to have it play off each other in as many instances as it can, because most of the times, it doesn't"

His reply was short and stated, "that's not your concern."

I went, uh, okay... and was quiet. And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

I tried to reach young Adam twice more through email, but he had to small a dick to actually reply.

And yes, I mean it. And no, I would never work with or for Scholastic ever, for that reason.

If you cannot behave professionally (even in just saying "no"), you are on my black list.

Anyway, finally with the iPad and the Android Tablets and the Kindle Fire, I saw a chance to get Kylie's Big Book of Monsters done, and in the way I had originally intended it, as a "graphic novel", and yes, I know that term has been used to describe TPBs of comic books, but I think that something like the pages you see here are more what it is.

A marriage of art and text.

The only one who I trusted with this (all the way back to 2003, to be honest, for another project) was my old buddy and artist Edo Fuijkschot, and I said what I always say, "have fun with it".

Yes, I did very precise layouts for this book that said, "okay, this is what I think should be on this page", but... and here's the important thing, kids, when you can trust somebody... when the artwork came back to me, I re-wrote around it.

Want to know why?

Because text is not holy. No text ist. It always comes down to "how does this read?" and "can I cut text if and when the art does the heavy lifting?", which is something every writer should learn.

Edo's art does a lot of the heavy lifting.

It guides your eye. It draws you in. It makes you smile.

All I have to do? Hey, I just have to keep you turning the page.

That's how a graphic novel should be.

And I am very proud of what's there already.

And know what? It will only get better.

April 29, 2012


One of the things I am working on (and have been working on, in different formats, for years) is The Cage. After my abysmal experiences in the "professional" industries like US publishing and Hollywood, I have come to the conclusion that pitching to idiots and even working for idiots is a waste of time, and in my case, I have wasted years on it, not to mention my health and quite possibly my sanity.

But I am working on The Cage, slowly and surely, for a release the way I intended, an ongoing series of limited series that will allow me to do bigger story arcs just as well as "novella" stand-alone episodes, the way old pulp serials worked, the way I had intended it to be on television.

It'll still take me a while, because as opposed to what I had envisioned with it being a TV show, in writing, I am all alone, so all the heavy lifting is on me.


Now, the reason I have been this quiet is that I have been working on things, published my German language books Asbury Park and the thriller Live through Amazon as a test run on how things work (and how to format eBooks in different ways).

I also am working very hard on getting Asbury Park out in its English version, and wouldn't you just know it, it is turning from a short novella in German to a fully fledged novel in English, which was not my intention, but sometimes, these things happen, and it's a good thing they do, although there is a part inside you that shouts, hey, weren't you supposed to be working on other things?

Yes, yes... I should and I am, but you cannot completely control your own brain, sometimes it just wanders into a place that wasn't there before, so for all of you in the rest of the world, Asbury Park: A Winter's Tale will be coming to you in the summer.

It's a fairy tale, a memoir, a lie, a tragedy and a story of hope unbroken.

And after that, there will be what is most likely my strangest mystery ever, The Church of Geppetto, about which I can't really tell you anything, other than perhaps that you will never look at another Barbie or Teddy Bear in the same way again.

I'll update this blog when I can, I may even give you a rant on world's politics here and then, if something annoys me too much, but for the most part, I will be writing (and if you do like to know what the author thinks, you can always check out me on Twitter.

February 11, 2012


Kids, nothing beats a lawyer at lying, and know what? You should beat them to death each time they lie, but we're going to do just that right now. we are going to beat a public statement by Robert Kirkman (translated by his lawyer) to death, since you don't even have to know either of those two men, be it Kirkman or Moore, to know who's lying here.

I told you before, kids, I'll tell you again.

Language. It betrays you every time.

So, here's the quote Kirkman through his lawyer gave to the Hollywood Reporter....
"The lawsuit is ridiculous, we each had legal representation seven years ago and now he is violating the same contract he initiated and approved and he wants to misrepresent the fees he was paid and continues to be paid for the work he was hired to do. Tony regularly receives payment for the work he did as penciler, inker and for gray tones on the first six issues of The Walking Dead comic series and he receives royalties for the TV show, to assert otherwise is simply incorrect."
As I did before, in numerous instances, in the department The Truth Shall Set You Free, I'm going to dissect the language here. Read carefully, boys and girls. There'll be a test later.
"We each had legal representation seven years ago"
The translation to this is quite simple, and it comes down to this, or you may be allowed for thinking, hey, the asshole and I both had lawyers, and mine was simply better than his was, that dumb fuck, hahahaha!

Incidentally, the "dumb fuck" quote here (of my making) serves to show that all people that are publicly praised (by their own clever PR) are the same, or does anybody else here remember Mark Zuckerberg? If not, watch The Social Network one more time.

But like I said, you may be allowed to think that, and it wouldn't be half wrong, but it's also not correct. See, here's the thing, kids. Just the fact that Kirkman and Moore had to have a contract in which Moore had to assign over his 50% of the copyright to Kirkman proves a simple thing, that he had 50% of the copyright. 

Remember this, boys and girls, this will become important in just a moment.
"and now he is violating the same contract he initiated and approved"
Okay, this is essentially "he said she said", because in response to Moore stating he was duped into signing the contract, Kirkman replies with, you wanted it this way (instead of him dabgering Moore, and as I stated in my last blog post, the "you have to sign it all over to me, or Hollywood won't deal, think of the money, man, we both gonna be rich, rich I say" is something that honest and honrable people will encounter on a daily basis by so-called "friends")
"and he wants to misrepresent the fees he was paid and continues to be paid
Now, this is basically, what the fuck, I'm paying stuff towards him, I paid stuff towards him, he should shut the fuck up. Know what is missing here? The exact nature of the claim, that Moore is not being paid what he is owed under the contract. And the fact that Moore has no access to the books to verify if he is being paid what he is owed under that contract. Tsk. Tsk. Mr. Kirkman must have sucked so much Hollywood cock or hung out with too many executives, because that is the exact nature of Hollywood accounting, and he has the audacity to use that move.

But that is not the important bit. The important bit, the lie, the big whopper of a lie is just forthcoming, did you catch it, boys and girls? This is the bit, if Mr. Moore has even the Bill Murray lawyer from Wild Things, that will allow him to tear Kirkman apart.
"for the work he was hired to do."
Now, I want you to go back up. And remember. There had to be a contract in which Moore assigned his share of the copyright to Kirkman. That much is in writing. Look it up on Deadline Hollywood or on Comics Beat, if you choose to do so. I did. 

Now, here's the thing, kids. I said it up there. The mere existence of this contract proves, yes, proves that there was no Work For Hire contract. Why is this important? Because, boys and girls, a Work For Hire contract has to be signed before commencing the work, or it ain't work for hire.

Now, Kirkman stating here that Moore was "hired", is not just a lie, it is legally wrong. Tsk. Tsk. Again, it appears that Mr. Kirkman has been running with Hollywood people for too long.

But let's go to the end, because, hell, to to have somebody lie this much in just a few sentences, that is rich. I mean, really rich. And again, no, I don't know either one of those people, and on a personal level, I don't give a shit about either of them (sorry).

What I do care about is the truth.
"Tony regularly receives payment for the work he did as penciler, inker and for gray tones on the first six issues of The Walking Dead comic series and he receives royalties for the TV show, to assert otherwise is simply incorrect."
See what he did here? He tried to be clever. The way only assholes try to be clever. Because he turns Moore's claim into I am not getting paid at all, which is of course not what Moore claims. He claims that he is not paid all that he is owed under those contracts, and he claims that Kirkman doesn't give him the information to verify.

And that, boys and girls, is all you need to know about Robert Kirkman.

Nothing else, nothing what he has ever said or will say will mean anything.

In just this one statement he has shown himself to be a liar and a fraud.

February 10, 2012


So, here's the thing.

Comic book artist and co-creator of that hit comic book (and TV show and most likely merchandising empire or whatever) The Walking Dead, Tony Moore, is suing Robert Kirkman, that other co-creator and writer. And there was much uproar, and considering how creators are being treated by corporations (look at the Before Watchmen bullshit), we can now either say that

(a) Robert Kirkman has officially become a corporation, you know, like Todd McFarlane became a corporation and then proceeded to fuck over Neil Gaiman (gosh, can we see a pattern evolving here?)


(b) Creators do to other creators exactly what they don't want to happen to them, which makes most of those "creators" out there fucking hypocrites. You know, like Darwyn Cooke or Adam Hughes for Before Watchmen or... gosh, that list would fill the entire blog post.

But in the case of Tony Moore, there is something that caught my eye, primarily because I know exactly what he is talking about. It's this claim -
Moore claims he was told in 2005 by Kirkman that a big TV deal was on the table but "that Kirkman would not be able to complete the deal unless [Moore] assigned all of his interest in the Walking Dead and other works to Kirkman," according to the complaint. Thinking the deal would fall apart, Moore signed the contract, he says, allowing Kirkman to "swindle" him out of his 50 percent interest in the copyright and never intending to pay him his share of royalties.
It's this paragraph that makes me believe Tony Moore, since I have had this almost happen to me. When I wrote the screenplay SAFE, there came a point at which the "director" Matt Haley told me that there's an awesome producer that wanted to take it to, gosh, nobody other than Senor Steven Spielbergo, and if you are in that industry, that's (unfortunately) almost as being presented to the Don himself, Mr. Corleone, because if there is a guy in that shit toilet that is Hollywood that can green light anything, it's that guy. Think about that for a moment, vomit in your mouth... and move on.

Anyway, in order to get this brilliant opportunity, all I had to do was to sign over all of the copyright to the screenplay to Matt Haley. For no money. In exchange for a promise that I'll get paid. Sometime. Somehow.

Let me repeat that. I was being told in 2009 that I should give up any and all chance to even voice anything for something that I created. Because, you know, "this is a collaborative thing". Obviously, I wasn't allowed to talk to the unnamed producer, because "that would only lead to confusion".

But don't worry. Trust me!

I'm just like you, you know? We're in this together, I'd never cheat you out of anything.

Yeah, that was the moment I decided (unlike Mr. Moore) to demand all of the email correspondence between Mr. Haley and anybody he had been in contact with regarding SAFE. You see, here's the thing. If you got nothing to hide (and I live my life like that), you can do this. And kids, if somebody doesn't give you access to those correspondences, rest assured that there are sentences in it, entire paragraphs of lies that makes them look good, makes them look like the ones who are in control.

I knew he was a liar when instead of "sure, not a problem" came a "are you crazy?" as a reply.

Note to everybody. If in such a situation, you get a reply that essentially tells you that you are paranoid, walk away. No, strike that. Run away. Run away as fast as you can. Or you will wind up becoming Tony Moore.

Now, in that particular case, the one thing I find funny (not in the haha sense) is that the manager/agent company Mr. Kirkman has employed (and who "develop" a lot of "comic book properties") is none other than Circle of Confusion, which just happens also to be the company working closely with the scumbag of a publisher, Seven Seas... and who negotiated and pitched my books 10 Beautiful Assassins and It Takes A Wizard all around the scumbag ocean that is Hollywood.

As I wrote about it in My Howard Roark Moment, these scumbags did so without my consent or without actually caring that Seven Seas didn't own shit and that the entire concept and the characters and stories were copyrighted... by yours truly.

What I didn't write there is what I'm going to tell you now. I emailed them, yes, I wrote to David Alpert personally and simply stated (in delightful legalese) that I was shocked, shocked I say that such a "reputable company" would go around Hollywood and pitch stuff that didn't even belong to their client! 

I would have to assume - for their benefit - that they had been misinformed and/or mislead by their client Seven Seas, for if they had been informed of their client not even holding the copyright, my legal team would have to assume that their were not only part but taking the lead in fraudulent behavior. And it would be so dreadful for me to sue them from here to the hereafter, because not only would I win, I wouldn't sue them under the US law, no, I'd sue them here in Germany, and boy, would there be a whuppin'.

I also demanded - in very nice ways, I assure you - to hand over the contact details of those they had been negotiating with.

Now, in my case, Circle of Confusion scurried like cockroaches, because here's the thing, kids. As long as you - the actual creator - holds the copyrights, as long as you haven't signed it away, there ain't no Harvard scumbag lawyer who can touch you.

As you have read here before, I'm sick of these industries, and I am sick of the people who work in there. In my own case, the only person I still collaborate with is my better half, Edo Fuijkschot. You know what? Because I trust him. And he trusts me. We co-created both The Tribe and The Sky Boys, and whatever format these stories will take, there is one thing that will also be true (which is why I have no problem saying this out loud, and the Internet doesn't forget), we both own everything 50:50, and I wouldn't make a decision on either of those two things without him.

Would I collaborate with anybody else in this industry?

No. Not anymore.

It's why I write novels.

February 2, 2012


I mean, it had to happen at some point. The entire US comic industry was "founded" by thieves and criminals, with ties to the mob (you know, kind of like Hollywood was founded by thieves who stole from Lumiere and then had the gall, the - dare I say it - chuzpe to "immortalize" the man in a kids' film like Martin Scorsese's Hugo), so the idea of anybody within that industry to have a moral or ethical codex is to expect the same thing from investment bankers.

They did it from the very beginning. To Siegel & Shuster. They did it to Kirby. They did it to Alan Moore. And I have heard all the arguments, that he walked into the situation with Watchmen with his eyes open, that he was over 30 and knew what he was doing and that he is generally speaking an old asshole who should shut the fuck up, because his works are based on things are people have either created (like Watchmen or Tom Strong or... insert your personal preference here)...

... and that's exactly what is out there on the message boards from those "fans" who don't deserve originality, who are sucking any and all corporate owned cock, who have absolutely no problem with creators living in poverty, who have no problem with people who are creative getting fucked over. Who are in the worst sense of the word consumers...

... but hey, it's the same kind of people who worship Steve Jobs and Apple and when you tell them that those magnificent, addictive little bullshit gadgets are made by slaves in everything but name only, there they are. The same arguments.

Others do the same!

If I didn't buy it, somebody else would!

Or, as I have said before, my favorite argument, You'd have done the same!

To all those who say that, I find you disgusting excuses for human beings. You are the same who cry foul when others torrent shit, you cry about "creators" and their "rights", but in the end, you don't give a fuck about actual creators, nor do you give a fuck about their rights.

Just give me what I want! 

Give it to me now!

Give me Spiderman, give me Batman, give me Superman, give me give me give me...

... I am fucking entitled to my entertainment! And I don't give a fuck if the creators are being fucked over or if they wind up in poverty or if they get ill and cannot pay their health insurance. Give me! Give me! Give me!

I said it on Twitter. I say it again here.

None of those "creators" who participate in this anal rape, knowing that are participating in an anal rape (as opposed to some of those in the 1960s and 1970s who just didn't know any better), will ever see another dime from me. Not a penny. Yes, Brian Azzarello, I am ashamed that I bought your 100 Bullets and various other books. Never again. I am ashamed I bought Darwyn Cooke's books. Never again. And the same goes for all the others involved too.

Never. Again.

I know what it's like to have no room to wiggle when it comes to dealing with the criminal, corrupt publishers in America. I know that - especially when you are still at the beginning, when you try to work hard and hope you get something return, they back you into a corner, they want to take everything from you, your rights, your copyrights, your story, so that they can rape what you have created, over and over again.

And how you try to rationalize it, how you tell yourself, it will get better, the next time, it will get better, maybe it's just because the next time I'll have more lube...

... but the example of Alan Moore shows, it doesn't get better.

It gets worse. As the example of Neil Gaiman vs. the "great fighter for creator's rights" (as long as they are his own, know?), Todd McFarlane, showed, it gets worse. And still, you people out there, you support these practices. You don't care. And then you dare to bitch that there are no good creators left, that there is nothing truly original.

You have made this system this way.

By knowing that people are being raped, be it in Hollywood or in the comics industry or in other "creative" industries. By knowing all this... and not giving a fuck.

So you wonder why there is no new Watchmen? No new From Hell? No work that has even tried to do what Moore did with Watchmen, but in another work?

It's not the publishers, lying, raping, thieving scum that they are.

It's you.

Just like with the overall status of the world, just like with the fact that companies like apple and Google and HP and Dell can get away with exploitation, it's you. It's you not giving a fuck as long as it doesn't happen to you. As long as you can masturbate your mind to the next version of your favorite character, you don't care. Just as long as you can masturbate your ego with the next version of your favorite gadget, you don't care.

And know what?

That's fine.

But then don't you dare to speak up if our culture becomes so corroded that all we get served is the McDonalds versions of stories. Hey, it's the same everywhere, it's bland and you fucking down't want to know where your Chicken McNuggets come from or where the waste goes, as long as you can feed yourself on the chemically engineered bullshit that you shove into your mouth and pretend that it's something worthwhile.

You have lost every right to complain.

January 20, 2012


Hello everyone out there. I'm sure you have been wondering what I'm up to (no, you haven't, but I am deluded enough to think that you have, hey, I'm a poor writer, and delusions are often all that we have, know?)

Okay, while I'm trying to keep my sanity together (and quite possibly finish the editing of my novel Live, which is driving me bonkers), I have been looking at some of the old stuff from way back, all the way back to 2003, to be perfectly honest, when Marvel Comics said they would have an "open contest" for everybody to create cheap-ass books for them through their Epic Comics competition.

Now, Mr. Edo Fuijkschot and I had something that we quickly whipped up together, essentially as a quasi-sequel to Millar and Hitch's Ultimates that had just been released (or rather, if memory serves me correctly, it was about 6 issues into the original limited series, but my memory could be wrong, it could have been issue 9 or 10).

EDIT: Having just looked it up, I wrote this pitch on June 30, 2003, so as far as I know the ending of Millar's first run was not finished by that point...

Now, I have a bit of a spy issue.

Or rather, I have the idea that spy stuff in a superhero universe should be somewhat impacted by all of those gods and monsters that are running, crawling and flying around.

And I thought, let's use a character that nobody gives a damn about.

Which was Silver Sable.

And so I wrote the pitch to The Sable Manifesto, which of course was to evoke all of the things that you by now (not back then, mind you, but now) associate with Matt Damon. The Bourne Something Or Other, so to speak.

But back in 2003, it was still fairly new, that title, so that's how it was.

It went into the Epic slush pile... and we never heard from them until we all got that letter from Marvel that stated (in a highly unprofessional fashion, I maintain, treating artists and writers like we were 10-year-olds) that Epic had gone bye bye, but hey, here's a letter with Spidey on the letterhead!

So here's what I had to say about how to do a spy series....



Everybody here? Right on, please sit down and listen to me rant for a while. After reading probably every Marvel Trade paperback known to man, there are a few things in the design of most superhero comic books in the past 30 to 40 years that – while grooming an ever-decreasing number of hardcore comic book fans – prevent the whole genre of superheroes to reach out to modern mainstream America, feasting on a steady diet of TV shows like “Sopranos”, “Buffy”, “Alias” and “24”.

Now, the easiest way to start this pitch (or indeed any pitch) would be to explain why Sable would be such a cool character and why it could make a lot of money. That kind of pitch would deteriorate very quickly into the following, taped in secret at a producer’s pitch meeting:
Well, we got success with the X-Men and the Hulk, and Bendis is doing a good job with Daredevil, but we need to broaden our sales base a little more…

You know, I have this good working idea…

As long as it’s not mutants. We got Morrison and Millar doing the mutants, not to mention Austen, Claremont and the other guys of the X-Corps…

No, no… it’s not mutants. It’s kind of a cross between Mission Impossible and The Dirty Dozen, but it is set in the Ultimate Marvel Universe. We start with a team of agents, and they’re being led by this woman called Silver Sable…

Really? So, this is about ordinary people then?

Yeah. Well, in a way. They’re not really all that ordinary. We can use all sorts of gadgets, tone down the superheroics in order to streamline it for cross-marketing. Anyway, Sable is this really cool character. She’s a mercenary, which is so totally cool, since she’s got such questionable morals and we can play on that.
Right. Now, let’s stop this and go back one step.

That kind of thinking is exactly what is wrong. Good stories do not necessarily begin with character, but with the environment that creates them. If you leave out that part of the equation, you will fall into the trap of most serial writers. You will take something for granted: in this particular case, the inner workings of the Marvel Universe.

Thankfully, the Ultimate universe has solved a lot of the problems that are inherent in an ever-growing creation with more than 40 years of history (hence, from now on, when we talk about the Marvel Universe, we will talk about the Ultimate Universe. Sounds complicated, I know). Millar’s “Ultimate X-Men” belong to the most accessible books on the shelves these days and are wonderfully in synch with the expectations of potential audiences that only know those mutants from the movies. Likewise, Bendis on “Ultimate Spiderman” has written Peter Parker in a way that any teenager today can relate to. But it is probably the “Ultimates” which takes the notion of superheroes in a real-world context to its most logical extreme so far. Not in a sense that such a team would actually work as a US sanctioned assault team (with the exception of Captain America, none of these people have any military background), but it is exactly how and why such a team would come into existence, if you accept the notion that superheroes are indeed real.

Or, rather, that superpowers are indeed real. The best example, although I believe not fully thought through, is Millar’s creation of the Hulk. He is a failed experiment to re-create the super soldier that Captain America has been. His blood (and Cap’s blood) is probably the most lethal weapon the planet has to offer, since it could be used to create more Hulks or even another Captain America. In a sense, that leads to the most important point one has to make about a world in which superpowers do exist and relate it to the real world we all alive in: powers are a weapon of mass destruction. In a world, where mutants are seen as terrorists, you want to have an army of supermen to take them out and protect the American Way of Life (isn’t it funny that this is always in capital letters?). You would need such an army, and the research into that would equal, if not surpass the original Manhattan project and the race to space flight in the 1960s.

Rogue states will want to have the means to produce such soldiers. The United States will try to keep them all. Terrorists will want to use them (which is played upon by the whole Mutant Terrorism storyline, but what about other terrorists? Real terrorists?) What kind of an impact would such a notion have?

That is something that has never been properly addressed. Even in the Ultimate Universe, which is a lot less complicated than the original universe, the fights break out within the superhero “families”. It’s the X-Men vs. Magneto vs. the Ultimates, without any regard to how other states, other governments, other people would see and react to those struggles.

Does anybody really believe that the Russians would keep quiet, if the US decided to start a team like the Ultimates to “fight mutant terror”? Does anybody really believe that there are not elements in the Middle East who would desperately want to get their hands on a Hulk serum, if only to arm their suicide bombers with enough destructive power to level a whole city block within Jerusalem? Or what about dictators such as Little Kim of North Korea? In our world, he already owns nuclear capabilities. In a universe that has an added factor of superpowers, those would become the new weapons of mass destruction, and pretty much every government in the world would try to pursue that road.

Once you have accepted the reality of such a world, it becomes a lot easier to talk about a character such as Sable.


Now, as strange as that may seem, in such a world, the most prized possession for any government and any terrorist would be the serum of Dr. Bruce Banner and his research findings, not necessarily the Hulk himself.

If the United States had a program with which to recreate the super soldier, then other states must have tried to infiltrate it, even despite the fall of the Soviet Union. I am pretty certain that S.H.I.E.L.D. and Nick Fury have been on the forefront of that battle for a few years by the time the timeline for the Ultimates and even the Ultimate X-Men kick in.

And Fury is the guy who has actually RUN that program. In order to get to that position, you cannot be a very nice person, but rather a player of power. We’re talking about a guy here, who – in the pages of Ultimate Spiderman – tells Peter Parker that the poor kid’s ass belongs to the United States government the moment he turns 18. No, Sir, not a nice person indeed.

A person who would have built up an enormous amount of personal and professional enemies over the years, and who has used, abused and harnessed the power of his position to it fullest potential in order to get the job done, the way he sees it fit. In a way that makes him almost a symbol of the current US government and their outlook on the world. The end, in Fury’s mind, always justifies the means. After all, he is fighting for Truth and Justice, right?

It is exactly that kind of thinking that fueled – in the real world – the actions of the CIA and other agencies throughout the Cold War (if you want to talk spy stories, you automatically start talking politics). If you need to assassinate a duly elected President in Chile and replace him with one of the worst dictators in the history of the 20th century, but who is in your pockets, you will do so. After all, you are fighting a bigger war here, right?

The same with the current fight on terrorism. As long as you can justify to yourself that all the means you have put in place will ultimately produce the right effect, you can look at yourself in the mirror each morning and still feel you are the good guy. Never mind civil liberties, never mind the fact that you need to kill innocents here and there. It is all for the greater good.

It is necessary.

Even Mark Millar played on that briefly when he opened up with the Black Widow and Hawkeye making fun of Nick Fury’s “media darlings”, while they had to do all the real work (he did portray Fury slightly differently in the “Return to Weapon X” storyline, which can be still considered to be consistent with our approach, since Fury had no problem killing a couple of hundred Indian soldiers and was only ready to see one person alone as human being, since he saved his life: Logan)

But that is the kind of world that spies live in. No questions, no answers, just a kind of professionalism that is needed to get the job done. This has been portrayed with great success in movies such as “Ronin”, “The Three Days of the Condor”, “Clear and Present Danger”, “The Siege” and, to lesser extent, in movies like “The Bourne Identity”.

That grit will be one pillar of what we call “The Sable Manifesto”. We will establish that kind of world within the Marvel Universe, to take a look behind the glitz and glamour of a group such as the Ultimates and into the inner workings of the machinery that made it possible.

Now, the spy business has been glamorized itself, and Bond, James Bond contributed a lot to it. Exotic locations, gorgeous women, impossible missions, all off those contribute to a romanticized vision of what a spy should, or could be. Even the updated versions such as “xXx” have played on that. Incidentally, here’s a question: in that movie, the big baddies want to release a nerve toxin into a city, and instead of recruiting a suicide bomber from their blatantly nihilist ranks, they build a boat that is released from a point so far away that our hero can still race it. John McTiernan once told an interviewer about the way he wrote the first “Die Hard”: “If your answer to the question ‘Why is the hero doing this?’ is Because otherwise the story would be over, then you have serious problem.

Updating a classic spy story takes a lot more than a tattooed guy you put in essentially the same stupid situations that Bond constantly finds himself in.

It takes the kind of realism that is part of those other movies and the combine those elements with the things that people have to come to expect from a good spy story.

The Sable Manifesto will do exactly that. And more so, it will do it in a way that is totally consistent with a universe that has characters such as Thor and Iron Man running around in it.

So, we are left with a few simple rules that makes a cool spy story set within the Marvel Universe.

1.    Make it real!
The world these people are living in is complicated and painted in shades of gray. People who may be your ally at one point can become your enemy later, due to a switching political agenda. Actions, in this world, have serious consequences. People die. People kill. People don’t give a damn about anything other than saving their own buttocks. Sounds cruel, but we are talking here about the dark side of a world increasingly dominated by superpowers.

2.    Make it accessible!
Treat everything in the story as if you are writing a movie, and not the third season of a TV show like “The West Wing”, where you need a bloody manual to know who is who and why they are doing what they are doing. The Sable Manifesto will have a beginning, middle, and an end and will run on movie time, meaning we are talking a six-issue story arc in which one comic book page roughly equals a minute of movie time.

3.    Make it work within Marvel!
Right from the beginning, the story needs to re-introduce the reader to the actual universe itself, pretty much in the same way a movie would introduce the foundation of the story.  It has to be stand-alone. Within the first ten to fifteen pages, we will tell people all there is to know about the Mutant Terror menace, the Ultimates, the development of superhuman strength as a weapon of mass destruction, but do so in a way that it immediately becomes an integral part of the story.

4.    Make it exotic!
Now, most people would say, especially in the current political climate, well, what the hell, use the Middle East as a backdrop, sthat’s what on television anyways, and what could be more exotic than a couple of ragheads whose religion and culture we don’t understand in the first place. Again, that would be lazy writing. The Middle East is very much like Vietnam or Afghanistan during the Soviet occupation. These are wars that are merely the executive action of a bigger threat that is showing up all around the world. And that turns old enemies into allies and old allies into enemies. That is one of the reasons why a big chunk of the book will be set in “New” and “Old” Europe, for now we have almost a sequel to the Cold War, except we are forced to deal with new players. It will also address the fact that the biggest arms shipments to rogue states still come from places like Russia and France, simply because they have a political stake in numerous of those issues facing the world today, including the oil issue. We will use that as a springboard to deal with superhuman threats.

5.    Make it personal!
Now, if we decide to see the Sable Manifesto like a movie, then there has to be a very close, very personal connection between all the players involved. Our players here will be Nick Fury, Sable and Raphael Sabitini. Over the course of the story, we will find out that Sable’s relationship with Fury has been less than professional at one point in the past, while Sabitini’s relationship to his ex-wife will become a lot more professional, when he makes her part of his attempt to steal the research for the super soldier serum right out of the Ultimates headquarters.


Now, to the important question: why the hell would anybody pick Silver Sable to star in a book? She’s not on the top list of characters people crave to come back like Dr. Strange, she’s only had one run in the comic book explosion of the 1990s and has been used primarily as a background player in the Spiderman series.

The answer: because she is perfect.

If you deconstruct the character and take only the most basic elements of her, she is exactly the kind of person who would be a player in the spy community. She has questionable morals (after all, she was designed by her creators to have an obscure Eastern European background, she acts as any responsible professional in that business would). She is in it for the money.

These are the elements that make her a perfect fit into a world where you cannot trust anybody, especially Nick Fury and his agenda.

She’s also a woman with expensive tastes and a serious penchant for decadence. She’s Old Europe, she’s exactly the kind of character James Bond used to be in the original movie, she is a professional player, is sarcastic and highly intelligent. She has no superpowers to speak of, has to rely on her ingenuity to stay alive and knows how to use sex as a weapon.

In order to have a fully-fledged persona like that, she must be older than your regular hero. When we open the curtain for our story, she is well into her Mid-Thirties, exactly the age of any good spy, meaning she’s had the experience and the knowledge to stay alive in a world, where nothing is exactly what it seems (most agents would never make it past their 30th birthday, so to have an agent like Sydney Bristow in “Alias” would never work. That show is not about spying, it’s all about Jennifer Garner’s butt in the same vein as Charlie’s Angels is all about Cameron Diaz’ butt).

And she has been out of the game for a couple of years.

That is the other thing that makes a good hero in a spy story: the reluctance to be brought back into that game. Let’s think about that for a moment. Does anybody remember why we all hated Luke Skywalker’s guts in the first Star Wars movie and why we all cheered for Han Solo? Simple, Skywalker was a typical teenage mall rat and we could almost hear him whine, “But I wanna go off with my friends to fight the Empire!” Which, incidentally can be translated to “But I wanna go off to the mall to play with my friends!” Now, Han Solo as portrayed by Harrison Ford, was entirely different: he knew the risks, he didn’t like them, so when in the end he comes to the rescue, it brings a totally different weight to that character. That, incidentally, is one fine American tradition, or at least it was in World War 2, and that is the reason why Millar’s re-interpretation of Captain America works so beautifully.

It is the same kind of weight that Hugh Jackman had at the end of X2. The ability to make the right choice despite all your instincts going against that is what makes the reluctant hero.

And there is no hero more reluctant than Silver Sable.

She’s done with the game. She’s done with that rather stupid code name (I believe that all of those names are code names. None of the people working in that business would use their real names, not even Bond, James Bond… that is still a name that I believe is taken by the person who takes up the 007 code) In the Marvel Universe, that would mean that all the other folks are using code names too, including the Black Widow, Hawkeye and even Nick Fury (what kind of a last name is Fury?)

Sable’s real name is Silvié Sablonski, she’s from former Czechoslowakia and has a family history that dates back to the Princes of Poland, which allows us to keep all the important elements of her original background and dispose of the bad ones, including the imaginary country of Symkarnia. The Marvel Universe, from its very conception, has used real cities and countries, as opposed to DC.

That is one of its strong points.

There are no cities like Metropolis and Gotham there, there is NYC and the rest of the world. By turning Sable into a Czech woman, we merely extend that idea to the rest of the world and inject some realism into her character. The same goes for her name. In the original background, her name is Sylvia. Now, unfortunately, that name doesn’t exist in Eastern Europe, but Silvié actually means Sylvia. That way, we change only the bits that stood in the way of realism, but without annoying long-time fans too much about major changes.

We also update Raphael Sabitini that way. He is Sable’s ex-husband, he is still an assassin, he is still in the game, he is still known as “Foreigner” amongst some of his associates, but that is not his code name. He is a rogue agent that Sable should have killed three years ago on a mission sanctioned by none other than Nick Fury.

He should be dead.

And when Fury finds out that he isn’t, he forces Sable back into his game: a very sick and twisted game.

And we’re here to walk you through it. Sit tight, take a good look underneath your seat for a b… (it’s not a b…, it’s a bomb) and enjoy the fireworks.


I’m assuming that you’ve read the script for the first issue by now, so we will merely do a little recap here. The first issue is pretty much all set-up. In movie lingo, we’re talking the first fifteen to twenty minutes, interrupted by the titles. And we’re dealing with a damn tall order there.

We FADE IN with Raphael Sabitini. He wakes up in Saint Petersburg, in a high class hotel, right next to a gorgeous woman who has apparently shared the last night with him. And he starts talking. Apparently, the big bad in a spy movie always seems to have verbal diarrhea, and Sabitini is no exception. We use him to give us the lowdown on the Marvel Universe, and especially the role of the Ultimates in that universe, while the woman on the bed seems to be still fast asleep. We even get to know from his monologue that the woman is an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, that he himself started off as a terrorist and lead the read to think that this is going to be that kind of Goldfinger moment that we all know.
“Do you expect me to beg, Mr. Goldfinger?”
“No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die…”
It seems that all big bads have the inclination tell all their plans in advance, before they lock an agent in a chamber without supervision and wait for some sharks with lasers attached to their head to kill them. Yeah, right. Or, like Scott Green in the first Austin Powers rightly said, “Dad, I got a gun in my room. Let me just get it, we pop him right here, we pop him right in the head.”

We will use the reader’s subconscious knowledge honed by years of watching movies and TV shows and pull the rug at the very end of the scene as we reveal that the agent on the bed is dead and indeed has been dead for numerous hours.

That way, we immediately establish Sabitini as a formidable big bad. It also gives us a chance to integrate important information about the universe (superhumans as WMDs, the Mutant Terrorism threat and the notion that putting together a team of inexperienced heroes in costumes to fight terrorism is in general a very, very bad idea indeed) into the main story and use that at the same time to establish Sabitini’s character.

He’s cold, he’s lethal, he conducts terrorism and spying as business and not as a foundation for an insane plan to DOMINATE THE WORLD (insert insane laughter here) and he DOES NOT make the mistake that apparently has been made by every big bad in every spy movie since Goldfinger.

And he KNOWS that he has been watched, even acknowledges it by winking at a hidden camera as he exits the room as we CUT TO

TWO PEOPLE watching the surveillance tape of that room. It’s NICK FURY and the BLACK WIDOW. Fury asks the Widow if the tape is authentic. She tells him it is and that the Russians have delivered it through their UN embassy.
“Who the hell wires their hotel rooms?” muses Fury.
“We do, Sir,” the Widow answers. “We got them all wired for image and sound in accordance with the Patriot Act. The memo should be on your desk.”
The smiling Sabitini on the screen seems to mock them.

We then CUT to our BIG OPENING. Let’s call it the first scene after TITLES. After introducing the VILLAIN, the UNIVERSE, we will now introduce the HERO.

We FADE IN on Monte Carlo. It’s night. It’s Casino time. Visually, we play the introduction of Sable the classic way. She is in a Casino, playing Blackjack, and in the beginning, we only see glimpses of her. We also see that she is totally at home in that environment of money and decadence, which is contrasted when Nick Fury enters the scene. Sable only acknowledges him by a sideways glance.
“Hello, Nicky,” she says.
“How did you know it was me?” is his reply.
“You smell of gun oil and old wars. Most of the other men here smell of Versace.”
That little exchange immediately shows their relationship to each other. They are mistrustful of each other. And Fury, despite the fact that he has an assault team inside the Casino, dressed up to blend in, is inferior to her throughout the whole situation. This is not his world. He is not James Bond. He is a soldier. Or, as Sable puts it, “Old Europe really isn’t your style. No military boots, no guns, no bombs.”

It is only when he produces a glossy of Sabitini, taken from the surveillance cameras, that he has the upper hand for a moment and we learn that Sable has worked for S.H.I.E.L.D in the past, that she is the ex-wife of Sabitini and that Fury gave her the order to kill him. We immediately understand that the mistrust between Fury and Sable is not just based on professional differences. There is something there that runs deeper, even if we don’t explore it immediately. There is something personal.

That undercurrent explodes in the final question: “But that’s not the funny thing. Funny thing is that he’s still breathing. Especially since I ordered you to kill him three years ago. Care to explain that to me?”


When we OPEN UP in the second issue, we have Fury and Sable driving towards Nice International airport. It is clear that he has extracted her from the Casino and is on his way back to the States to debrief her. Now, in a regular spy story, she would have been able to pull of some kind of stunt inside the Casino to get out of Fury’s way, kill a few of the undercover soldiers and set out to prove her innocence.

That’s bullshit.

Not only would it be totally unrealistic (now, where in your evening gown would you hide the AK 47 to do that?), but it also would not be consistent with Sable’s character at that point in time. She’s done with the whole thing. It’s not her game. So she would go with Fury, but not without noticing a few things before she does that:

The Audi A8 that passes them on the street with the three men sitting in there.

The man with the cell phone who begins talking with somebody the moment they leave the Casino.

The tourist couple that take pictures with a digital camera when they get onto the serpentine that leads out of Monte Carlo.

We INTERCUT these sequences with Sabitini, sitting in Saint Petersburg, preparing a big deal with some of the ex-KGB people that he’s had numerous relationships with. It becomes clear that the man on the cell phone in Monaco is part of his team, and that he’s had Sable under surveillance for quite a while, for reasons known only to him at this point (a point here: If there is any foil for Sabitini at this point in this story, it is John Travolta’s character in “Swordfish”. You just KNOW that this is the man pulling the strings, regardless of what the other people might think. The audience should be in awe of that man).

He tells his team to extract her immediately.

There are three things we (as the audience) get from those sequences. One, Sabitini seems to know everything that Fury knows, and that there seems to be an inside man within S.H.I.E.L.D. feeding him the information. Two, Sabitini seems to need Sable for that deal that he has just brokered. Three, he seems to have the French in the pocket, all the way up to the government, on this deal, which makes his plan easier.

We RETURN to the serpentine streets between Monaco and have the very first BIG, BIG action sequence in the book as Sabitini’s team extracts Sable from Fury’s hold. It will be played out in just as much in a realistic way as the ambush in DeNiro’s “Ronin” or Harrison Ford’s “Clear and Present Danger”, as the team carefully prepares and ambush in a village set between Nice and Monte Carlo, killing most of Fury’s carefully selected S.H.I.E.L.D agents in the process. Remember, these are pros pitted against each other. These are not superheroes that rip apart a couple of buildings while doing some glib one-liners.

When Sable’s getting away from Fury, she picks up a cell phone handed to her by one of Sabitini’s team and acknowledges her extraction. She does so in a way that makes us think that not only did she notice that before, but that this was some part of a bigger plan and that she had expected Sabitini’s call.

We CUT BACK to Fury as he gets in all the details about his losses, and strangely enough, he doesn’t seem to be fazed by any of the truly horrible numbers. Acceptable losses, it seems. And it is only then that we learn that he has placed a tracking device on Sable that flares up on at least half a dozen spy satellites back home at HQ, with the Black Widow supervising the whole operation.

“Plan’s working,” Fury tells the Widow and then tells his driver to take him to his plane. “We got her.”

We FOLLOW as the signal is tracked all the way from Monaco to Saint Petersburg, where Sable and Sabitini meet for the first time in our story. And here’s the next surprise. For somebody, who has apparently quit the game, Sable seems to be exceptionally happy to see Sabitini again, as they kiss passionately.


Now, we left the audience with some sense of confusion as to what side Sable’s playing on. This is made clear by the first few sequences in which we have Sable and Sabitini have incredible, OTT sex that is usually reserved for extra-marital affairs or spies. Apparently, in the case we have both.

Throughout that sequence, we also get the info what exactly Sabitini is planning to sell: the latest batch of Bruce Banner’s research, meaning the serum that turned Banner into the Hulk and all the relevant data that is necessary to produce that serum on an industrial level. Despite the fact that the Hulk is not really the best weapon of choice, he knows there is a huge market around the world and one that hasn’t been regulated and supervised, because it officially doesn’t even exist.

That promises big, big money for both him and Sable, he promises her (actually, he only calls her Silvié, never Sable, but that is just by the by. To him, she is not that code name, but the woman who has crossed the line three years earlier and is part of his operation). All is good, it seems.

We also the other member of the team that is going to participate in this impossible bust, so he will have his very own so-called Wild Pack (like we said before, we will use references to Sable’s rich past, but we will never make it obvious, this is more along the lines of Logan’s and Scott Summer’s dialogue in the first X-Men movie, kind of like, “what would you prefer, yellow spandex?” It is a reference to keep hardcore fans happy, but, like the inclusion of the word “Foreigner”, it doesn’t need the previous knowledge to enjoy the story. We merely add another layer by doing this):

The final addition is a German hacker by the name of Klaus Rheinhardt (the Germans have a pretty decent history when it comes to terrorism, unfortunately, but that is not the main reason for making him German. The main reason is that Germans make good villains…) But it is the way that we introduce this character that makes him just as important to this story as Ving Rhames was in Mission Impossible. You see, the way this issue goes like is something like this:

We INTERCUT Sable’s meeting and sex session (so to speak) with Fury and his people TRACKING her through the bug that he has placed on her during the earlier meeting in Monte Carlo. We constantly switch back and forth, pretty much using the oldest trick (but still very effective) by conning the audience into believing that Fury, and the Black Widow, now with an assault team, know EXACTLY where Sable (now, here is the big question: does Sable know that she is being tracked? Well, we’ll answer that later…) is and get ready to take out Raphael and his team. Imagine big SHIELD forces, helicopters, the whole Appleseed SWAT team order.

In the meantime, we have Raphael not explaining that he has an inside man in SHIELD, no sir, we also have him explain to Sable that he plans to get the Hulk serum straight out of the Triskellion.

And Fury’s team is getting closer… This will also set up a couple of paragraphs in which Fury discusses the relationship between the US and Russia in a day and age, where the US have the Ultimates and Russia has effectively lost the arms race on numerous counts. Pretty much like back in the early days of the Cold War, when only the US had the nuclear bomb. His Russian counterpart doesn’t like it, but hey, we are now all on the same side, and that technology can’t be allowed to fall into the hands of terrorist groups, right?

We worry about the bilateral relationships later, so it seems…

And Raphael introduces us to Rheinhardt, who then explains that by the by Fury’s team is exactly where THEY want them to be, since he has diverted the bug’s signals to a place somewhere Chechnya, where terrorism is running high anyways, and Fury had no problem getting in, due to the Anti-Terrorism pact with Russia.

We also learn that this has only been made possible by the Black Widow (who is with them), who worked for Fury’s counterpart during her time at the KGB. And the two still seem to be friendly with each other.

We will play this very much like a mixture between the Search and Destroy in “Patriot Games” and the finale of “Silence of the Lambs”.

It will only be on the final three to five pages of the issue that we realize that a) Sabitini is in complete control of the situation and b) that Klaus Rheinhardt is the bloody best hacker on the bloody planet, which is necessary to establish his character through his profession. He is a minor character in this play, but vital, so that bit is necessary to set up what seems to be Fury’s defeat and


Here, we have a full issue of three people pulling off the impossible: Getting into the Triskellion, getting the Hulk serum and the research data AND avoiding the Ultimates in doing so.

Like I said, impossible, right? Just the power levels alone would be enough to kill and/or maim Sable, Sabitini and Rheinhardt, despite the “inside man” that Sabitini claims to have and who gives them access to the internal surveillance system, so Rheinhardt can help them from a remote site in Manhattan (just think of him as our little German R2-D2, heck, German sounds to American ears like robot speak anyways LOL).

But even with all that, it should be impossible, right? I mean, we have Captain America on the other side, Thor, Iron Man. Not to mention 5000 staff and soldiers all through the bloody complex.

Still, getting in is incredibly easy, if you have an operation on such scale, provided you have some inside information. It is the getting out that a team should worry about.


Now imagine this: You’re Bruce Banner, in your holding tank and working silently on the cure for your little Hulk problem, and through the air lock you have a guy coming in who immediately pulls a .45 and points it at your head. Now, the following conversation would work something like this:

Please, dear god, don’t do this.

Please, in the name of god.

You have no idea what you are doing.

I do, Dr. Banner

And he shoots him right in the head.

Believe me, I do.

Now, we all know that you cannot KILL Bruce Banner. The Hulk serum will prevent that from happening. But that shot shows two things: the absolute ruthlessness of a professional agent and the only way to get OUT of the Triskellion.

For Banner turns into the Hulk as Sabitini walks away and starts THRASHING the place, meaning that everybody and anybody, and yes, this does include Cap, Thor and the 5000 soldiers have their hands full with that threat.

All the while Sabitini and Sable get the relevant data out of the labs. Unfortunately for Sable, there is only one other person in the Triskellion with a background similar than hers: The Black Widow, and she is the only one who immediately assesses the situation correctly.

She meets up with Sable on her way out and we have a REAL fight, none of that Matrix hoopla (it would work within the MATRIX, but real people fight differently). Rheinhardt is watching all through the internal surveillance system. Sabitini is already on his way out, and so he can see that fight as well. He tells Sable to withdraw, but she can’t do that with the Widow knowing.

So he orders Sable to kill her to prove that she is really on his team, and not a covert sent in by Fury. Which she apparently does. She shoots her point blank. And the team disappears into the shadows again

It is only in the aftermath that Fury checks all the surveillance again, and sees the following: Sable slipping the Widow a flack jacket and only THEN shooting her point blank for the camera.

The only problem now is: where the hell is the Widow?

Because she is GONE from the Triskellion.

And we FINISH with that to set up


After returning to Saint Petersburg, we have a somewhat subdued beginning, during which Sabitini and his team finally SELL the Hulk serum to… none other than the Russians!

And it is not only that, it is exactly the person who was seemingly helping Nick Fury in the previous issues. The Black Widow’s former executive officer (a name is still missing here, I know, but names are not really that important)

We also reveal who Sabitini’s “inside man” was: none other than the Black Widow herself! Who, as it turns out, has apparently never stopped working for the Russians, but has been a deep covert for the past few years. When asked about this by Sable at the meeting, she sneers and tells that she would never betray her own country (that is consistent with her original origin and it would be fun to have it in a way that we can return to that moment of “oh my god, she’s a bad guy”)

The Russians, it seems, have learned from SHIELD’s mistakes. Based on their research with monkeys during the space program, they have come up with a way to treat the emerging Hulkings (well, there is only one Hulk, now, is there?) and use them as weapons pretty much in the same vein as you would use a K9 dog. They are being manipulated by electric shocks.

Now, the appearance of the Black Widow here seemingly puts Sable into serious danger: her cover is blown, now that Sabitini knows that she’s been playing them, AND that Sable didn’t kill her when she should have.

But this where the next unexpected thing happens (or at least very unexpected for Sabitini): The guy who was seemingly so totally in control of everything gets shot by the Black Widow point blank, on the order of the KGB (well, also for the fact that he would have ALLOWED her to die previously).

Sable and Rheinhardt, meanwhile, get thrown into jail, where Sable has some serious thinking to do. Now, this is our moment. Up to this point, everybody has been playing everybody. But now, Sable is in a classic James Bond situation: she is alone (well, with Rheinhardt), she knows there is nobody she can trust anymore, and still, still she manages to pull off a daring escape, thereby firmly establishing her as a true hero, who is now desperately trying to race against the clock to prevent the Russians to finish their experimentation.

Unknown to her, though, the Black Widow STEALS the control device that should have controlled the Hulklings, and this is where things get really, REALLY fucked up.

You see, now the Hulklings wake up WITHOUT control.

And immediately start thrashing the lab. One of the first who gets it is Rheinhardt, who gets literally torn to pieces by the Hulklings. And here is where Sable and the Widow meet again.

And Sable is pissed. Very, very pissed.

“That was not the plan,” she yells at the Widow. “That was not the plan.” The two women desperately race out of the lab as the Widow contacts Fury to tell him that something has gone terribly wrong.

As Sable escapes, the Hulkings wake up.

And then it’s the end of the world…


We OPEN UP with a truly horrible picture, by the way of news networks. Saint Petersburg is overrun with uncontrolled Hulklings. And chaos ensues on a level that has never been seen before. Forget 9/11, we are talking about 150 superpowered mindless monsters that RIP through the city.

Sable and the Widow actually RACE the Hulklings as they make their way across the city, on motorcycles, ACROSS the rooftops (again, every action sequence has to be made in a way that it can be done in a movie WITHOUT too much CGI involved)

Sable and the Black Widow, during their escapes, are met by none other than Fury again, who has apparently been waiting at the outskirts of the city. And again, we learn something unexpected: the Widow has not been a double agent after all.

“You got it?” Fury asks the Widow.
“You doubt?”
“Not really.”

All the while the city behind them is turned into dust.

Fury calls his Russian counterpart and offers his help with the situation. That request is denied. The Russians know how to handle it themselves. (this is essentially a play on the Kursk. The Russians have seriously trouble with accepting any kind of help, especially coming from the Americans. And, well, would you really accept help if the reason for that chaos is the fact that you stole technology from your enemy? No, didn’t think so)

Essentially, what we are doing here is to up the stakes with each subsequent action sequence throughout the series, like it would be in any good movie. We start on “Ronin” level, but then, with each new action sequence, we get bigger on the level of destruction, until we reach this issue: The total obliteration of a city.

Or, in other words: We are dealing with the first superhero Hiroshima ever shown in comic books. There will be real deaths, real murder, real mayhem.

And it’s the civilians who have to pay that price. And it is not going to be the kind of destruction of cities that has been seen repeatedly in comic books. You know, the kind of death ray that may kill a million or two, but is over and done with in two panels.

No, this destruction will be played out panel by panel as the Hulkings, unrestrained and uncontrolled, tear people apart. And there’s a real danger of them leaving the city and running rampant in the country.

Fury offers his help. Of course he has already planned for such a contingency (you see, this is the moment where we actually get to know that it was not Sabitini who is essentially Travolta in “Swordfish”, it is Fury. He plans for everything). Part of the team he has with him are the Ultimates. Again, that offer is declined.

Up to a point, where the Russians use their final means of control. They release a gamma bomb over the city.

The final cover-up. And, of course, they tell the world that this catastrophe was a terrorist attack coming from Chechnya. Well, easy to swallow, that one, right? Especially since Fury backs up that story with forged documents from SHIELD.

And we return to Sable, Fury and the Widow who are flying out, back from a mission that seemed to have been a complete failure.

And it is only then that Sable realizes it: Both Fury and the Widow had planned this long before she got involved. They WANTED the Russians to experiment on the Hulk serum, because that kind of research is now forbidden in the US (well, does anybody really think they could use the serum on anyone after it created the Hulk? No way). Fury acknowledges it by not denying.

And Sable realizes that she has been played all along. She is back in Nick’s world. And in that world, the loss of a complete city, if it is not an American one, is an acceptable loss for the greater good.

We find out that, while it was Sable’s mission to infiltrate Sabitini’s team, the real payoff has always been what the Widow’s mission was: the technology to control the Hulk.

Fury tells her that the money is on her Swiss bank account.

She punches his lights out, before looking back at the green mushroom cloud that has engulfed Saint Petersburg.

We END very much in a “Swordfish” way, through a series of SHOTS coming from news networks, in which we are told of INCREDIBLE destruction at various places where there were apparent terrorist cells. Over and over again… Is it the Hulk, now controlled like a Pavlovian dog? Maybe…


Okay, since there is apparently a lot of ruckus on the Internets about how much freedom an artist should have to interpret your stuff, let me just state for the record that from the very beginning, Edo (Fuijkschot) and I worked on shit the way other people party. In other words, I did a script, then we sat down, had a lot of coffee and tea, he'd have brilliant ideas, I'd go mental and think "gah, must incorporate that), I then did re-writes and the actual final writing would be done by him and me... sitting at the computer together.

But here you can see how things looked in the original script... and way up above, you can see how Edo drew these things...



Let’s get the show on the road, and I do mean that quite literally. We OPEN UP with a ROW OF FOUR SMALL panels that consist of CLOSE UPS. We START with a very ornate HUMIDOR, placed on a just as ornate nightstand. Think 17th century. We FOLLOW as a thick, muscular hand takes out a Romeo & Juliet (for those non-cigar aficionados out there, that is a rather expensive Cuban one ;) and lights it with a long wooden match in just the right way, first rolling the cigar between the fingers, then lighting it while rolling, warming up the cigar before we go to the next panels. We NEVER see who the man is in that first row of panels. We have him talk, though.
And that, my dear, is the whole trick.

To make them see what they want.

Keep their mind occupied with other things.
Now we PULL BACK from those CLOSE UPS and introduce the man. Call him RAPHAEL SABITINI. He shows his CHEST underneath a silk morning gown. His nipples are both pierced, there is a TRIBAL running down from his shoulder to his navel. Long hair, slicked back on the top and curly at the neck. He is SEXY in a BRUTISH WAY. There is a carefully trimmed goatee, giving him the look of a modern-day Peter The Great.
Saint Petersburg, Russia
He takes the cigar between his lips and takes a drag over the course of the next ROW OF PANELS, this time consisting of THREE. We SEE that he is in a lush 17th century BEDROOM, getting up from the bed. He continues to talk while he gets ready.
Thank god for those mutants, that’s what I say. They just make it all so damn easy.

You have them blow up the Brooklyn Bridge, you get everybody in the States scared of any freak in a strange costume.

If you ask me, my dear, it’s these people that give terrorism a bad name. Talk about weapons of mass destruction.
We FINISH the page with a WIDESCREEN PANEL, in which Raphael moves away from the bed and towards the camera, smoking his cigar. In the background, covered by SATIN SHEETS, we see the NAKED BODY of a young woman.


SPLASH PAGE. Let’s make some impact here. We have Raphael standing at the bedside, and now we can actually see the whole room. It’s a huge atrocity of Pre-French-Revolution proportions, the walls covered with gold, the floor polished wood, a bedroom made for kings; the woman in the bed doesn’t move. It looks like she is still fast asleep. Think expressionism. Not too much detail, let the colors and the rough line work do most of the work here (or you go insane by the details)
Used to be, all you needed was some determination, a gun or a knife and you could make them negotiate.

That’s how I started, you know? A gun and an airplane. Those were the days.

Back when it was all about business.

Not today. Now, you need to wear your underpants outside and pose for Dateline to get any kind of attention. It’s all for show, that’s the problem.
We have THREE WIDESCREEN PANELS on that. We START off with Raphael moving past the woman on the bed, CARESSING the lines of her back, looking down at her. In that POV, we still don’t see her face.
All to make it look good.
We CUT to an ESTABLISHING SHOT of the TRISKELLION; the “Ultimates” headquarter. It’s an imposing sight against the nightly backdrop of Manhattan.
It’s a P.R. exercise. Even that name: The Ultimates. 
Straight out of a Saturday morning cartoon.

We CUT BACK to Raphael. He has PASSED the woman and moves slowly towards the luxurious BALCONY DOORS. The blinds are made out of heavy silk. Morning has already broken outside.
Don’t get me wrong. I like a good show. And that show’s as good as they come.
Again, we OPEN with a WIDESCREEN PANEL. We STAY with Raphael. We are on the outside of the balcony as he opens the door and takes in a breath of fresh air. We stay CLOSE to him, not too much background here. We keep focused on CHARACTER, not LOCATION.
Just look at it this way. You got a country that’s scared enough to piss on its own constitution. You got a media that’s telling the public whatever you want it to hear.
We CUT BACK to the TRISKELLION; this is essentially a CAMERA MOVE that FOLLOWS from the establishing shot. We get the ENTRANCE HALL of that huge building. I’m envisioning a kind of “Patriot Games” shot here, that kind of rolling camera move that HOVERS above the floor of the entrance hall as we show the S.H.I.E.L.D insignia on the marble, very much like those CIA shots in half a dozen movies (most recently in a rather forgettable one called “The Recruit”, with Pacino). There is the usual buzzing of employees, agents and soldiers in that entrance hall.
Hell, you even got a hundred and fifty billion dollars through Congress for your war on terror, and what do you spend it on?
We MOVE through the CORRIDORS of the TRISKELLION as part of the busy SUPPORT STAFF. We FINISH the page with none other than CAPTAIN AMERICA in FULL GEAR coming towards us.
More freaks in costumes.
We CONTINUE our little tour of the TRISKELLION in another WIDESCREEN PANEL. We have passed Captain America and are in another CORRIDOR. We PASS the HOLDING UNIT that Dr. Bruce Banner designer to hold the Hulk. Again, there’s the usual flurry of activity by soldiers, support staff and tech people. We see BANNER on the other side, in the unit, looking at people on the other side.
Seems there are so many of them these days, it’s impossible to contain all of them.
We RETURN to Raphael for a THREE PANEL ROW as he is outside on the balcony, smoking lazily his cigar. He looks at the sky above him for a BEAT, then INSIDE for a MOMENT then returns his attention to his own speech We have one word balloon per panel here.
But you probably know all of that, don’t you, my dear? Working there with them, I suppose, does have some benefits.
All of that glamour and glitz on top, that’s just a good coating for what we are really talking about.

What all of them really are.
We FINISH the page with another WIDESCREEN. We change POV and are INSIDE the holding unit, together with Bruce Banner. Outside, the people pass by as if a skinny man in a cell built to hold a monster is just the most mundane thing in the world. We can see Banner’s REFLECTION inside the glass. But it’s not the skinny man we see there; it’s the raging beast that makes up THE HULK (can we have the kind of reflection that is using that total color transparency, without any line work there at all? That would look totally awesome, I would think).
We START this page with another THREE PANEL ROW that STAYS in the same POV. We are hovering above the luscious bed, showing the woman inside it. It is essentially the same panel over again, to make one point and one point alone: she DOES NOT MOVE while Raphael continues to talk to her.
Oh, by the way. If you want me to stop talking, just say so.

I must be boring you to death with all of this.

I just like to think out aloud sometimes. Have somebody listen to all that’s going on in my head. Have somebody who knows what I’m talking about.
We FINISH the page with TWO WIDESCREENS that take us back to the TRISKELLION.

The FIRST ONE is a REPEAT of that panel that shows Banner locked up inside the HOLDING UNIT. The only thing showing time has passed is the different type of people walking by. Banner has stepped back from the glass and has withdrawn into himself.
The SECOND PANEL here is showing THOR approaching the TRISKELLION. As much as Banner should be seen as a symbol for human misery, Thor is BIGGER THAN LIFE. Awe-inspiring even from that one panel, he is essentially exudes the same kind of gentle kindness that somebody like Superman would exude in that universe built by the Distinguished competition.
And monsters.
Right on, this page will be just FOUR WIDESCREENS that all STAY in the SAME POV. We are with Raphael on the balcony, the camera is positioned BEHIND him as he watches while the SUN SLOWLY RISES behind the rooftops of St. Petersburg, burning away the shadows on the city.

All those panels will be silent, played for cinematic effect rather than expository purposes, before we turn to

We have a BIG PANEL that takes up most of the page. It’s the first big ESTABLISHING SHOT of St. Petersburg that is GLOWING in the morning sunlight.
A new dawn of man.
We FINISH the page with a THREE PANEL ROW. Again, we STAY in the POV of hovering above the bed for all three panels. The woman is still lying there, not moving, still apparently FAST ASLEEP. The only difference to the previous THREE PANEL ROW is that we are going to play with color here as the sun creeps into the room. By this time, we KNOW something is not quite right with that woman.
Now, don’t laugh.

I know very well how that sounds.

But it’s what it says in your press release.
We have another THREE PANELS in a row, in which we follow Raphael as he walks back into the bedroom. They should be bigger than the previous rows we used, probably a third of the page in length, BLEEDING into a BIG PANEL that that takes up the other two thirds of the page.
To me, that sounds almost like the things you hear from those mutant terrorists.

To these people, it’s all about vision. What you see, how you see it, how to make you see the world their way.

And in the end, it’s just another press release.
We CUT now to MAGNETO in his FIBERGLASS HOLDING UNIT deep within the bowels of the TRISKELLION for our BIG PANEL SHOT. He is sitting as his glass desk. Three agents in dark suits and sunglasses are surrounding him for interrogation.
Did I tell you that I met Magneto once? Of course that was a long time ago, before he decided to wear that costume and blow up half of New York with his mutant army.

Before your bosses locked him away for good.

Made the world a safer place, I guess.
We FINISH the PAGE with another THREE PANEL ROW, but these will be smaller and INTEGRATED at the bottom of the BIG PANEL. We have a STRING of CLOSE UPS in which Raphael extinguishes his cigar in an ashtray. It keeps on SMOULDERING for a while, then the smoke fades away. In the background, we can see the DOOR leading out of the bedroom.
Talked for him for quite a while, back then.

He was the man with the vision. For me, it was all about business.

That’s all I ever talk about, it seems.
We start with the SAME THREE ROW PANEL that we ended the last page with. We see Raphael walking away from us, OPENING the door in the background and WALKING THROUGH IT.
I don’t care about how to make it better. Or safer. I leave that up to other people.

I just clean up their mess.
We then have two WIDESCREEN PANELS. In the FIRST, we have Raphael walking down a very lush, very exclusive hotel corridor. We are BEHIND him as a MAID bringing some towels crosses his way. The maid is a typical old-fashioned Russian mamuschka.

In the SECOND WIDESCREEN, we have him PASS the maid, nodding friendly at her, before we CUT TO

Right on, we’ll have THREE WIDESCREEN PANELS here on this page that ALL stay in the SAME POV. We are IN the bedroom and have this and treat this and the next page as a way of showing how TIME PASSES. It was very well done in Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell’s “From Hell” at one point (and it did even make it into the movie, which was one of the very few scenes that I actually liked. The rest of that thing was very, very bad…) Now, before we digress…

We START with the maid entering the room. The woman on the bed still hasn’t moved.

We CONTINUE with the same POV (I would suggest from an above angle, but I leave that up to you) and the maid now SITTING in one of the chairs, after having had a nervous breakdown. There’s also the HOTEL MANAGER standing in front of the bed, wiping sweat off his forehead. The woman has been turned over in the bed and we can see that she is dead. She stares with BLIND EYES at the ceiling (and therefore, at us)

We FINISH with the SAME POV and show the MAID, still sitting on a chair, but now more composed, the HOTEL MANAGER talking to a RUSSIAN POLICE OFFICER while another POLICE OFFICER (both uniformed beat cops) LOOKS at the body.

The same game, three WIDESCREENS continuing our little passage through time.

We START with now even MORE people being in the room. The MAID, now being questioned by two cops in suits, with at least FOUR uniformed POLICE OFFICERS looking through the room. The HOTEL MANGER talking to another cop in a suit, while we have two people from the CORONER’S OFFICE coming into the room.

We CONTINUE with the focus now being on the RUSSIAN C.S.I people having taking over the crime scene. They investigate the body thoroughly as more and more people from the RUSSIAN ARMY come into the room, looking around. The HOTEL MANAGER, the MAID and the STREET COPS are gone in this panel. There’s a PHOTOGRAPHER flashing snapshots of the corpse.

We FINISH with the room FILLED by SHIELD operatives, as they TALK to some of the RUSSIAN ARMY OFFICERS and some others looking at the corpse with their high-tech gear.

We’ll have FOUR WIDESCREEN PANELS on that page that are all in the same POV. It’s a BIG SCREEN with two people sitting in front of it. We only see the backs of those two. They are shrouded in SHADOWS. One of them is NICK FURY, the other one BLACK WIDOW. Only the images on the screen CHANGE as the scene progresses.

We START with the last IMAGE of the previous page. The only thing different here is that we show the TYPICAL TV LINES coming from shooting something on Hi-Definition video.
Freeze it.
In the SECOND PANEL we have pretty much the same image, but on the display we also have the “II” that shows up on an OSD when you freeze frame a video or DVD
We got the feed through the Russian embassy yesterday evening. I had it run through Tech all through the night for inconsistencies.

Is it authentic?

Looks like, Sir.

The THIRD PANEL stays exactly the same as the second one. The only thing that I would change is that the two silhouettes in the foreground shift slightly as they continue to talk to each other (that should be consistent throughout this sequence, since it gives the impression of cinematic movement)

Who the hell wires their hotel rooms?

We do, Sir. Got them all wired for image and sound in the D.C and New York areas last week in accordance with the Patriot Act. The memo should be on your desk. The Russians just got there a little faster, that’s all.
The FOURTH PANEL also stays exactly in the SAME POV. The image on the screen is still in FREEZE FRAME. Fury turns around to face Black Widow.
Show it again.
We CONTINUE with the FOUR WIDESCREEN BREAKDOWN that stays in the same perspective, so we can play this like a movie with nearly a minute of screen time per page.

In the FIRST PANEL we SEE the REWIND BUTTON on the display and the typical SCRAMBLED UP PICTURE that shows up when somebody rewinds a video tape (of course, a DVD jumps a little cleaner, just showing single frames, but that might be difficult to pull off artistically within the confines of a comic book. But if you have an idea how to make that REWIND more high tech, I’m all ears). We GO BACK in TIME and have the image of the MAID and the HOTEL MANAGER from Page 11, Panel 2 there. In the foreground, Fury and Black Widow, still talking.
What was her name?

Vanessa Ferrick, Sir. Codename: Rapier. Seven years in the field, five of them in Black Ops.
In the SECOND PANEL, the image on the display jumps FURTHER BACK INTO TIME. Now we see RAPHAEL on the SCREEN as he LEAVES the ROOM. Otherwise, we stay in the same POV. We STILL see the REWIND BUTTON on the display as well.
You briefly met her at the opening gala for the Ultimates last year.

I remember.
In the THIRD PANEL, we skip further back in time. Now we are SHOWING none other than Vanessa Ferrick and Raphael in bed (or around the bed or wherever you want to place them) as they are doing the naughty.
What about her family?

Has been notified.

Give them the works for the funeral. Find out who their congressman is, get him on the phone and have him hold the eulogy.
In the FOURTH PANEL we skip even further back in time. Here we see Vanessa as she pours some champagne into a flute In this shot Raphael is not in the image.
She died a soldier.
We FINISH the sequence with (yes, you guessed right) the final FOUR WIDESCREEN PANELS. Again, we have the two shadows in the foreground move as they speak over the imagery.

We START with Raphael and Ferrick entering the bedroom.
You give the word, we take him out. I can have an assault team out there within 36 hours, Sir.
We CONTINUE with Raphael LOOKING up STRAIGHT INTO THE CAMERA. He starts breaking a smile.
We got Stark’s new armor back from field-testing in Arizona. They got enough firepower to level the whole place, if necessary.

No. The Russians won’t go for that. This ain’t Iraq or Afghanistan where nobody gives a damn. We march in there, we’re right back in the bloody cold war.
We CONTINUE with a ZOOM onto Raphael’s face LOOKING UP as his smile widens.
And the bastard knows it.

We FINISH with a CLOSE UP of Raphael on the display with a KNOWING SMIRK.
He knows exactly how to play us.
PAGE 16 & 17
This is a SPREAD that opens up with a HUGE PANEL to establish LOCATION which takes up the whole spread. At the bottom of the spread, we have a ROW OF EIGHT PANELS INSERTED INTO the big image like a string of BOXOUTS.

The BIG DOUBLE SPREAD PANEL: an image of Monte Carlo at night, as seen from the sea. It should evoke old movies with Cary Grant and Grace Kelly as well as early James Bond, not the newer movies. Anybody who’s ever been to Monaco knows that the place is still stuck in the Sixties, despite the fact that they have all the new cars driving around there. The flair is still the Sixties, the women (at least the RICH ones) still adhere to Sixties formal style, so even with that opening shot of Monte Carlo, where we DON’T see any people but rather the buildings lit up for the night should convey that feeling of old-fashioned glamour (I am ranting here, but most of the modern writers have only seen the city on TV).

In the BOXOUTS we position the camera BEHIND none other than SABLE sitting at a blackjack table. Even in those little shots, we can see that the casino she is in is top class. The dealer has the slick expression of a European professional and none of that Las Vegas sleaze. These people here play for pleasure, not for money. Sable is in formal wear; evening gown, a sable fur, long, black opera gloves. We FOLLOW the game she is playing through those eight panels and PLAY it totally for visual effect, so there will be NO DIALOGUE at all.

The only thing we do on that double spread is a
Monte Carlo, Monaco
We OPEN with a FOUR PANEL ROW of CLOSE UPS as Sable meticulously takes out a small cigarillo from a silver case, lights it, blows the smoke against the ceiling and then slightly turns her head as to acknowledge the presence of somebody behind her who we don’t see yet.
Hello, Nicky.
We FOLLOW with THREE WIDESCREENS that have NICK FURY in an ARMANI TUX sit down NEXT to Sable at the table, first PULLING UP the STOOL, then positioning himself next to her.
How did you know it was me?

You smell of gun oil and old wars, darling.

Most of the other men here smell of Versace.

We continue the CASINO SEQUENCE with a FOUR PANEL ROW at the top with QUICK CUTS between SABLE and FURY as they talk. We START with a CLOSE UP of Fury.
And they don’t look like a butler when they wear Armani.
Then we CUT TO Sable as she continues to talk. The CUTS should be as cinematic as possible. Since we have a lot of dialogue and exposition to get through here AND at the same time make it sound cool (meaning it has to snap, crackle and pop like the best Tarantino), we get through some quick cuts here and there.
Old Europe isn’t your style, Nicky. No military boots, no assault rifles. You even had to dress up your soldiers to get them in.
In the THIRD PANEL of that first ROW, we have a SILENT FURY look surprised, before we then CUT BACK to
Oh, come on. You think I didn’t notice?
We CONTINUE with a BIG PANEL that shows the CASINO HALL, all done in late 18th century style, filled to the brim with people gambling and partying in an old fashioned cocktail party kind of way (ever compared a European cocktail party with an American one? Trust me, there is a big difference between New American Money, and even old American money is new money to Europeans and really OLD OLD OLD European money. It is just the level of decadence, I guess, but that can be played very nicely in this book). It is the comic book equivalent of a WIDE SHOT that is needed to give a good overview of the location and serve as an interim shot before the next series of SMALL PANELS that are on the BOTTOM OF THE PAGE, almost an OVERLAY OF BOXOUTS onto the BIG PANEL that goes all the way down.  We have three PANELS there that show exactly what Sable is describing in her VOICE OVER.
What I do like is the German ambassador in the back. Hardly noticeable, unless, of course, you know that no German would have such a good sense of fashion.

Then there’s the couple at the Roulette table. They’ve spent less than the half a grand in the past twenty minutes. You wasting all of your money on superheroes these days?

Now, the cocktail waiter, that’s sloppy work. I can see his earpiece. Everything we say, you probably have it analyzed by your monkeys back home while they live on Starbuck’s coffee and Happy Meals.
We have A ROW of FOUR PANELS each to begin with as we CONTINUE the conversation between Sable and Fury. Again we have a lot of QUICK CUTS between the two, starting with a CLOSE UP of a smiling Fury. It’s that kind of a smirk who knows how to be charming and at the same time dangerous. Think Robert DeNiro in “Ronin” here as a good reference (or even better, when it comes to the mood of Fury here, think DeNiro in “Goodfellas”)
Of course.
We CUT TO Sable as she looks down in another CLOSE UP
Of course.
Again, we CUT BACK to Fury as his face hardens.
You know the rules of this game, Sable
And BACK to Sable. Now it’s her turn to show a dangerous, very thin smile.
I quit your game, Nicky. Even quit that stupid code name.
Now, we go into a WIDESCREEN of the two sitting next to each other. Sable has turned her back against the Blackjack table, while Fury is still sitting there, facing it. He rests the chin on his hands, looking at nothing in particular while smiling to himself.
We move to a SECOND ROW off FOUR PANELS with another series of QUICK CUTS and CLOSE UPS. This time we start with Sable.
We CUT TO Fury as he again looks around to face her.
I remember correctly, I fired your ass.
And BACK to Sable who holds her ground as she stares him down.
Same difference.
We CUT BACK to FURY as his smile widens to a grin.
We FINISH the page with ANOTHER WIDESCREEN. Sable moves closer to Fury as she talks.
That’s your game, Nicky. You got all the toys, agents with code names, heroes in costumes. All you could ever need to save the world.  Your world, not mine.
We’ll CONTINUE the conversation. I would suggest another FOUR WIDESCREEN PANELS that stay in the same POV as the final widescreen from the previous page. Again, we play with time and movement here to guarantee a good flow. So, we have them do rather mundane things (I leave the who does what when to you) while they discuss important ones.

During that conversation, Fury pulls out a small piece of paper from his Armani tux and puts it on the table. Sable, on the other hand, takes out another cigarillo from her case and lights it. Then she RECOGNIZES what (or rather who) it is she sees on that paper.
I just have to live in it.

Trying not to think too much about old times.

Bad thing about old times, they always catch up. When you do our kind of work, that’s just the way it is.

People like us, we never go ex.
SPLASH PAGE. We have the whole page DEDICATED to a CLOSE UP of that SHOT of Raphael smiling into the security camera. We see Fury’s hand covering up a small portion of that print.
I know the shot’s not as good as the ones we made at your wedding reception and the beard’s new, but I’m sure you can still recognize your husband.

He goes by the name of Raphael Sabitini now. Runs an operation out of Saint Petersburg. We’re not sure what kind.  He killed the covert we got in to put him under surveillance last week. But that’s not the funny thing.

The funny thing is that he’s still breathing. Especially since you were ordered to kill him three years ago.

Care to explain that to me?


Now, some of those ideas are now, 9 years (fuck, has it been that long?) somewhat... known (and having just read through it again, I am quite certain that I wrote the pitch before the end of the first Ultimates ending, because I felt incredibly clever for using somebody to shoot Bruce Banner in the head as a way of bringing out the Hulk), but back then, I don't think they were all that known, to be honest, and some of the action set pieces I still love, and some of them have in the meantime found their way into my own original writing.

I have not kept up with Marvel in the meantime all that much, I feel that most of the things they are doing now (that I have skimmed through) are monotone and incredibly boring, which probably means that I have finally outgrown them. Yay, I am a grown up!

Still, superheroes hold a fascination for me, and like I said, some of the things here found their way into my own writing.

Hope you enjoyed this little flashback... and one of the very rare moments (I was younger and dumber back then) that I actually tried to make a corporate character work. I still think that I wasn't all that bad, and that it would have been a good limited series.